Crumbs
by TigerxFox
Summary: "I'll come back." he murmured while Zoro pretended to be asleep and Sanji pretended to believe. As Zoro hoped to get some crumbs of affection before the chef left.
1. Pain

Each night they spent together was the same. Sanji was straight, and so he should continue. From time to time, however, he escaped from his façade in the dead of night.

"I'll come back." He said, and Zoro hated himself for his heartbeat to raise with such a lazy assertion. He hated to feel a rush of relief for the certainty of his return.

"I'll come back." He insisted on repeating as a mantra. But Zoro didn't want his return because he didn't want him to leave at all.

"I'll come back." He whispered. That was the most Zoro would ever hear. All the sweet nothings with which he fantasized would never leave those lips.

"I'll come back." Sanji knew that wasn't enough. But he pretended and Zoro mirrored his pretense. His pain was his burden to carry.

"I'll come back." He uttered in the dark, where he kept Zoro. In the shadows hidden, where he belonged.

"I'll come back." But Zoro already knew that. What bothered him was the wait. It was the line of women with which the cook flirted and took home with him every week.

"I'll come back." He said just before sunrise. Zoro couldn't even get an entire night. He never slept quietly afterwards, just a cold body on an empty bed.

"I'll come back." He spoke, as if this would comfort the other for so many whole nights alone. Make the ticking of the clock sounds less unbearable. Prevent his bitter tears from falling.

"I'll come back." He kept repeating, making Zoro feel even more pathetic. Covering him with the weight of his ridiculous crave. Rubbing in his face how much Zoro needs him.

"I'll come back." He uttered the guilty words that pierced the heart of the other. The occasional reminder that the illusion is over.

"I'll come back." Zoro swore he wouldn't wait, but he always kept waiting. He swore he was going to stay whole, but always ended up in pieces.

"I'll be back." He murmured while Zoro pretended to be asleep and Sanji pretended to believe. As Zoro hoped to get some crumbs of affection before the chef left.

"I'll come back." The sentence would leave the chef's mouth punctually each morning. Crushing Zoro's hopes of someday having a breakfast prepared by those divine hands.

"I'll come back." He said as if at some point he had left him. His scent was impregnated in Zoro's sheets, golden threads insisted on scattering across his bed, marks staining his bronzed skin.

"I'll come back." He said as Zoro held his wrist loosely in a vain attempt to get some more time. When he had the courage to say the fateful word: "Stay."

Next week, he said nothing. He sat up in bed, smoked his morning cigarette, and left. And Zoro missed the words he cursed so badly. He got pissed, hated himself, cried. He made his breakfast, threw away the ashes of the ashtray, changed his sheets.

He was never coming back.


	2. Denial

"I'm not coming back." Sanji repeated to himself, as his teeth incessantly chattered, inside his cold room. His apartment, which was great in the summer, was shitty in the winter. His room specifically was a nightmare: it didn't even isolate one single joule.

"I'm not coming back." Even though the idiot who lived upstairs had offered the other half of his bed a few weeks ago. Not exactly with those words. But _that_ word was enough, and his hand wrapped around his wrist was the maximum vulnerability that the proud and stoic man would allow himself. Sanji jerked his arm away, afraid that in that fraction of a second Zoro could feel his pulse racing and identify the musical rhythm from the contractions of his heart.

"I'm not coming back." He was not going to crawl into that seaweed's bed again, he was already making himself look ridiculous. He'd already made it clear he wasn't returning, he wouldn't humiliate himself by showing up there after denying it. After so many weeks without listening to the ridiculous beats of his own heart.

"I'm not coming back." He was still trying to convince himself. As if he repeated enough it would eventually become true. Just as he repeated thousands of times in front of the mirror that had no attraction for men. That their nights at Zoro's apartment meant nothing. That his heart didn't beat for him.

"I'm not coming back." He'd promised himself he wouldn't. He preferred to break his teeth from chattering them then to injure his pride. He would freeze, like an idiot. He would catch a cold, like a retard. He would miss him, like an imbecile.

"I'm not coming back." He repeated, but the memories of other nights insisted on invading his thoughts and kept him from giving into sleep and fatigue. He managed to doze for only two minutes, enough to dream. His whole body was hot now, his heart beating that damn song again.

"I'm not coming back." He sat on the bed and held his chest, as if to soothe the agitated organ. He felt like a moron. He was choosing to suffer. He could easily climb a flight of stairs and feel warm and happy beside the plant, but he chose not to sleep and daydream about Zoro on his icy bed. Damn his fucking pride.

"I'm not coming back." He insisted, stubbornness guiding him. It was not just pride. Nor about the cold. He was afraid to crawl and look desperate. He was afraid to want to hug him more than anything. He was afraid he'd begun to love him.

"I'm not coming back." He still clung to his chest tightly over his shirt. He begged for silence, begged his heart to just shut up and stop beating.

"I'm not coming back." He was still trying to convince himself. But trying to stay so long without the other was as agonizing and stupid as trying to hold his breath.

"I'm a retard."


	3. Acceptance

"I'm back." He thought, trying his best to make the least noise. Almost impossible, as the sepulchral silence of dawn was replaced by his heart, whose frequency increased a beat to each step he took.

Zoro was in the center of the bed, drooling inelegantly. This dreadful sight made Sanji's eyes roll, but his heart had another opinion about it. Its pace changed subtly and now it was beating a little harder. He could hear the sound of his pulse intensify, like the sound of drums, as he subtly tried to lie down beside the Neanderthal.

Zoro slept with his bare chest and the blanket lying on the floor. His flat was a little bit warmer than Sanji's, but that was way too much for such freezing weather. Zoro sleeps in any situation: on his back, face down, in the cold, heat, in bed, on the floor, alone, accompanied, and his sleep is very deep. Sanji had already noticed this in his many nights there. It was very useful to ease the embarrassment of being hugged all night. Then he would get up in the morning and the man still wouldn't move. Sanji wondered if he even noticed when he arrived. If it makes any difference hugging him. For this moment of doubt, his heart failed a beat.

His fingers then moved slowly to Zoro's, timid and insecure. And his cold skin touched the other's warm one. He watched him from the corner of his uncovered eye, to see if anything changed in his expression. His face remained the same, not one muscle contracted. It hurt to have so little time. In a few hours Sanji would get up to work and, even if he didn't, the idiot would wake up eventually and stay there would be...embarrassing. Sanji pretended that it would never happen. That the clock hands would stop. That his arms wouldn't become empty. Fearful of emptiness. Of not having where to cling, fear of what is not palpable. Of being alone. The color of his face was drained, he was paralyzed within his own anguish, and his heartbeats faded, leaving the room quiet.

In the midst of feelings and paranoia he felt the other's hand, motionless before, entwine its fingers and squeeze his. His face quickly regained color and tinged red with embarrassment at the possibility of his awakening, his heart regaining strength, galloping loudly, exacerbating intensity. He observed Zoro discreetly, he still snored. As if even asleep he could feel his anguish and bring him comfort. The beats now floundered with emotion, but still perfectly orchestrated. Like the epic ending of a symphony in all its glory. One that only begins with a timid clarinet and is transformed majestically with the entrance of trumpets, trombones, drums, violins and basses. And to think that for so long he had tried to keep his heart in silence.

"Silence is overrated." He thought, just before he fell asleep quietly to the song that came from his own chest.


	4. Death

Zoro doesn't want to, but he misses him all the time. He spends his days alone, in thoughts that rejoice and suffocate him alternately. He hates crawling. But he hates not crawling. He hates seeing him run out of his fingers and doing nothing. He hates the knot in his throat when he thinks of him. He hates to take hours to fall asleep. He hates a lot of things about this situation. But he loves him. And it's his only unwavering thought.

He loved when he showed up. He loved to talk to him. He loved to see him happy. He loved every little detail and every annoying bit of him. And it hurts. Because he felt he loved for the both of them. Because he was in free fall and smashed right into the ground. It hurts because he can't get through a second without him. It's pathetic, actually. He tries to understand how someone has the courage to feel this, to want to undress emotionally like that and to give their heart on a tray. It's because he loves him. It's because he wants to do everything within his reach and give Sanji his all. Because all is already his, although he doesn't want it. He's a retard. Idiot. Dumbass. But he loves him. He wanted certainty. He wanted him. Instead he had crumbs and vain attempts to reach out. He was afraid. He had thick tears running stubbornly down his face. He had insomnia.

There's no rest. And he tries to maintain his composure and act normally. But the mask is dangerously close to falling at any moment. Because he doesn't know what to do. He knows fully well that this is because he's an idiot. But he cannot help it. Fuck, he loves him. Why can't he tell him that? Why does he have to suffer alone? Why does he have to wait for him until he languishes?

For a moment he could fantasize. That Sanji comes. And he lies next to him as if he belonged there. And he would have the world's quietest face, as if all the worries had been swept from his mind. As if staying there helped him sleep. Zoro would stare at him, almost not believing his happiness. Maybe he would barely touch his fingers on his face, afraid of it all being a lie and that everything would vanish like smoke. Maybe he'd hug him tightly without measuring his strength, like the clumsy ogre he is. Maybe he would wake him up and the other wouldn't understand and complain, threatening to kick him. The stubborn tears would automatically form in the corner of his eyes. And the best thing is why. Sanji would come because he wants to. Sanji would come because he loves him back. And that would kill him with joy.

Zoro opened his eyes and almost died. The joy of seeing the other's face at his side sleeping under strands of gold nearly killed him.


End file.
